


Car Trouble, Call Trouble

by AlwaysEroticWrestling, ThisGuyFvcks



Series: High Spots High [3]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chuck Taylor shouldn't have been left alone for any length of time, Gen, Jon Moxley is mysterious af, imsotired, no beta no care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysEroticWrestling/pseuds/AlwaysEroticWrestling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisGuyFvcks/pseuds/ThisGuyFvcks
Summary: Seven digits.Three letters.“Mox?” Chuck let the word settle. “That Moxley guy, the one that’s been suspended like four times?”Orange Cassidy lifted his chin in an affirmative.Chuck felt the brief glimmer of hope in his heart falter with this new obstacle.“Okay…I’ll text him.” Chuck had to respect Orange’s stellar ability to judge character despite his own trepidation.“He doesn’t text.” A final warning from Orange Cassidy before he walked back down the hall, hands at home in his pockets again.
Series: High Spots High [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536658
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Car Trouble, Call Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> It's a one-shot character introduction with possibility of building up some bigger plots in our Highschool series .  
If you've always wanted more John Hughes in your wrasslin, stick around. 
> 
> Oh. And we take requests.  
Stars of this part are brought to you by the #ChanceWheel .

The curb came out of nowhere.  
Something was smoking from under the hood and Chuck Taylor barrel rolled out of the driver’s seat of the 1996 Chevy Beretta and onto the green grass where half of the car was stationed. 

“This is bad.”  
The car seemed to hiss in response.  
“Yep. Yep it’s real bad.” Chuck said to no one. Normally, the owner of the car would’ve been there with him. And normally he would be driving, too.  
But Trent was at a track meet a county away. And Chuck had just wrecked the car his best friend so graciously let him borrow. He watched with gritted teeth as the car shifted further. The front tire finally gave up the ghost, collapsed with a hiss, and the metal body shifted slightly to rest. Chuck winced. 

Yeah, he was going to have to fix this.  
Somehow.  
Without money. Or a car. He needed help. At the very least, he needed advice.  
He pulled out his phone and waited, breath baited, for the ringing to stop. 

“Yeah?”  
“Hey Orange-” He kept his eyes on the car as he spoke. The smoking had stopped at least. He hoped that was a good thing. “I’m parked over by the football field and uh. There’s been an issue. Can you make it out here?” 

There was silence on the other end.  
“You know what - never mind, I’ll come to you.” He hung up and snapped a few quick pictures of the wreckage for reference.  
Thankfully Orange Cassidy wasn’t ever hard to find. With twenty minutes of lunch time to spare, Chuck was showing him the results of his grave miscalculations. 

“Sucks.” 

“Yeah, I know. I can’t just leave it like that. Trent loves that freakin’ car. He’s nicknamed after it.” 

Orange’s sunglasses reflected a glimmer of sunlight. Somehow they were more alive than the actual face under them. “You took shop class right? You know of anyone that can fix it….?” 

Orange Cassidy’s face remained still. He was staring somewhere beyond the pictures of the the damaged car. Maybe somewhere beyond Chuck’s phone.  
“Think so.”  
He pulled his hand out of his denim pocket. In his hand was a precariously gripped phone. He scrolled noncommittally, and held it out for Chuck to read. 

Seven digits.  
Three letters.  
“Mox?” Chuck let the word settle. “That Moxley guy, the one that’s been suspended like four times?”  
Orange Cassidy lifted his chin in an affirmative. 

Chuck felt the brief glimmer of hope in his heart stutter with this new obstacle.  
“Okay…I’ll text him.” Chuck had to respect Orange’s stellar ability to judge character despite his own trepidation.  
“He doesn’t text.” A final warning from Orange Cassidy before he walked back down the hall, hands at home in his pockets again. 

“So I’ll- I’ll call?” Chuck inquired after the disappearing figure. “I’ll call right? Cassidy! ” It was too late. He was gone. How the hell he could walk so slow and move so fast was beyond him.  
Shit.  
He looked at the number. Whatever, he was out of options here.  
He dialed the number and started pacing as it rang. 

On the fourth ring, he heard it pick up.  
“Who’s this?” The voice on the other end called, somehow seemingly disinterested but still faintly aggressive.  
“Uh. Chuck. Chuck Taylor.” He paused. “ I got your number from Orange Cassidy? “ He waited for a sign of recognition of the other name. What he got was no response at all. 

“Anyway. He uh, said you’re pretty good with cars. I sorta trashed mine over by the field. I can’t really pay for a tow but maybe you could look at it and we could work something out? I just-” 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. “  
“Fifth hour starts in-”  
“Ten minutes,” Mox interrupted firmly. Chuck nodded, and then realized he couldn’t hear that.  
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be right over. Thank you.” 

Jon Moxley beat him to the scene. When Chuck approached, he was there, leather-jacket clad back facing the wreck.  
“Hey man, thanks for coming out I-”  
“Open the trunk.”  
He turned to look at Chuck after he spoke to him, shaggy brown hair curling to frame his face. On anyone else, Chuck probably wouldn’t have found it intimidating.  
“Uh. Sure. Yeah, of course.” He walked over, keys in hand, and unlocked the trunk. It took him a couple tries, and he could swear Mox’s eyes were trying to burn a hole in him as he struggled.  
Moxley didn’t wait for him to step aside when the trunk popped open, instead shouldering in next to him to start rooting around inside.  
For a moment, Chuck was pretty sure the guy was just going to rob him. And he was willing to allow it.  
But then Mox pushed aside the upholstery and revealed a spare tire and a car jack. Chuck ‘Hmmed’ in surprise and Mox cut him a look.  
“We’re going to get it off the road first.” ‘We’, turned out, almost exclusively meant ‘Mox’, when Chuck sheepishly had to admit he didn’t know anything about changing a tire.

At least Mox made quick work of it. When the tire was on, he stood up and brushed his blackened fingers on his faded jeans. 

“So here’s what we’re going to do; I’m going to push this car into the parking lot, I’m going to get it running again. You’re going to pay me.” Chuck patted his side where his very thin wallet sat.

“I would, I just- Y’know-”

“Payments. Twenty bucks a week for three months. It’s fair. We got a deal or not?” Mox crossed his arms over his chest.  
Chuck thought about Trent.  
“Yeah. Deal.”  
It’d been a good call to have Chuck drive. Not because he was a good driver, as evidenced by his situation with the car, but because there was no way he’d have been able to push the car as effectively.  
Honestly, the main issue seemed to be an overheated engine. Which wasn’t too out of the originally for an old-ass car that wasn’t exactly top of the line even in ‘96. There was a garage on campus, not that they were super friendly with loaning out the tools for personal projects, but Mox figured he could swipe a thing or two to borrow to get some of the cosmetic damage buffed out.  
And if he got caught, what were they going to do, expel him? Didn’t seem so bad an outcome. He’d had worse days. He pondered this as he bent over the open hood, doing basic-ass diagnostics while Chuck alternated between anxiously watching him and boredly wandering off to stalk around the parking lot. Coolant, oil, and clean up. By the time he was done classes were over. He’d gotten the car to start and gotten the worst dents hammered out.  
“You should probably not drive it home.” He handed Chuck the keys anyway.  
“That’s probably fair,” Chuck agreed, deciding the bus might be his best bet given his luck. “Thanks.”  
“Don’t thank me. Just pay me. Friday,” Mox reminded him, wiping excess grime off his hands before grabbing his jacket.  
And with that, he was walking off.  
Chuck’s phone rang. Freddie Mercury let him know Trent was calling.


End file.
